Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars (tear, tear) because it belongs to the Holy One (AKA George Lucas). But I do own Alesse, for whatever that counts for.

AN: Hello everyone! I gave it the rating M, just in case, but I believe I can change it, so if I find that it doesn't fit that rating, I'll alter it. This is my first story so I don't know how good it will be, so please read and review!

Story: You're Not the Hero

Chapter One: Lock the Door

The icy wind nipped at his heels, reminding him unless they hurried, all would be lost. A single man stepped out of the bitter driving cyclone and into a small medical theater. A lone woman sat on the cold, hard table gasping and screaming in pain, for although this was a hospital, they were, unfortunately out of anesthetic. She gasped out in agony as the surgical droids fussed and tinkered with the complex medical equipment. "Is it…a boy," Her eyes rolled blindly, "Or a …girl?"

"We don't know yet." A man's voice rang out in the tiny chamber.

"It's…a boy." She grimaced as another convulsion shook her petite frame, "I … know it is." Her chest moved rapidly up and down, her breathing ragged and shallow.

The man that had spoken before walked over to the medical droid, "What is her condition?"

A cold tinny voice answered him, "She has massive internal bleeding, frostbite on over 34.67 percent of her skin, pregnancy induced hypertension, severe eclampsia, and an off the charts white-blood cell count. We do not believe she will make it."

The man sighed and clenched his fist, "No, it is not probable. We must save the child then." The woman's shrieks brought him back to the present as he rushed over to see what she wanted.

"Save…the baby…not me." He clasped her hand, as though holding it would keep the life in her.

"No we will save both of you, don't worry." He lied.

Through all of her pain she managed a small harsh laugh, "No…it is my time. If it…is a boy," A transparent filmy layer covered her near-sightless eyes, "Name him… Karayan." The rest of her sentence was drowned out by a screech and several conflicting alarms. The droids shooed him away, only speaking to him once, to deliver a baby to his arms, already swabbed off.

A few minutes later, when they died down, he returned to her side, holding the small female baby in his arms, "It is a girl."

Her eyes widened, "You're-you're wrong! It has to be a boy." She wearily propped herself up to look at the child, "No-no it has to be a boy!" She grabbed the newborn around the neck as though killing her would stop the nightmare.

Stunned at her response the man snatched the babe back, holding her safely in his arms, "What is your name?"

"Mavra…of" Blood splattered on the floor as she coughed it up, "Gala."

The droids once again tried to shoo him away, but he refused, intent on asking one more question, "What do you want her name to be?"

She snorted painfully, "Doesn't deserve…a name, useless…thought it was a…boy." She took what was certainly a final breath, for the monitor next to her was going blank. She stared into the eyes of her daughter and muttered, "Let you be damned." Then she fell back and lay still as the last tendrils of life deserted her abused body.

Six years into the future on the small deserted outpost of Chommel Minor, in the Chommel Sector, near the planet of Naboo, a small girl woke up. She shook her dirt-matted hair, allowing for some clods of grime to come loose, as though doing that would provide relief from the dream that had haunted her since infancy. The girl ran a finger through her mane and stood up, stretching her achy legs, preparing herself for the new day. Bitter cold gripped at her bare arms and legs, threatening her health, but as always she ignored the pain and silently picked up her things. A few stragglers were out on the streets, mainly hobos and drunken pilots too stupid to go inside, roaming around looking as pitiful as they always did. But then again she could not say they were pitiful without including herself also; she was not an ugly girl, but then again at her present state you could not say she was even remotely pretty. Maybe under all of the muck and grime she might have been attractive, but that was impossible to say, for she had not had a bath in some 4 years. The cantina down the road about 1 mile was her destination, as always, for that is where she made her living. Once again you can't really call it a living though because the owner paid her much less than the Republic mandatory wage of 6.5 credits an hour. She did not even get credits because, as she was reminded of much of the time, their humble planet was not part of the Republic. Not realizing where her feet were taking her she walked straight into the double-walled, steel door of the cantina causing something, hopefully inexpensive, to fall to the floor with a loud bang and, from what is sounded like, shatter. The door swung open, nearly hitting her face, as the bartender came out.

"You stupid schutta bitch!" He raged at her, "You broke my Corellian statue! This is coming from your wage!"

Instead of replying she just stood there, head hung in shame as he continued ranting about how clumsy she was.

"Get to work Alesse." He spat before going back to the bar, preparing some concoctions. She stared after him, lost in thought until once again he screamed, "Get back to work Alesse before you waste anymore of my time!" He had called her by her nickname. She did not have a real name, nor did she want one; a name meant classifying herself, deciding, besides she knew that know cared enough to give her a name. Her tiny hands grasped the hefty broom and clumsily swept the floor, careful not to knock over anymore things. At exactly 8:30AM hoards of pilots, civilians, and various other individuals packed themselves into the cantina, as was expected for this was their sole source of entertainment.

"Alesse serve these fine people their drinks." The bartender's manners had completely changed, once again as usual, as soon as a single customer entered the building. Her response was to silently take the drinks to their rightful owners, who quickly gulped them down, and to take the cups back to the kitchen. Many hours and several drinks later the bartender and his other drunken friends were 'feeling' her up.

"So eh- little girl! Stand up there and show us a dance." One man slurred. The others cheered along and fearing her boss's wrath she unwillingly complied. "More feeling!" He shouted. She danced some more with 'feeling' and with no further requests; she stepped down from the table, only to find a man waiting for her.

"Come here my pretty." His breath smelled of cigars and she could see stubble on his chin, from at least 5 days. He grabbed her arm, "What you don't like me?"

She just stared at him, not moving, or saying anything until he tried to touch her. At this she stomped on his foot, making him let go of her arm, and went home; If you could even call it a home, it was more of a leaky shack or cardboard box. Once inside, she took out her small cracked mirror and gazed at the wretched reflection staring back at her. Dirty, grimy chestnut hair matted down with 4 years of muck; Bleak green eyes filled with desolation and despair with absolutely no hope for a bright, purposeful future, they were only filled with the knowledge of her two greatest mentors: pain and loneliness.

Alesse made her way to the cantina only to discover that it was closed for the day due to a need of repairs. She gave a wistful sigh, this was one less day in her alarmingly small diet, she had that she would not get food. Suddenly a commotion at the other end of the windswept street attracted her attention away from the growing pains in her stomach, to a luxurious ship that had just landed. Whoever was on the ship must have been bloody wealthy, for it looked somewhat like the Naboo Royal Starship, used by only the Queen of course. But alas it was not the Queen, only a few spoiled aristocrats trying to 'better' Chommel Minor by disgustedly looking at all of its inhabitants. As the group of 12-year olds walked by her, hey looked disdainfully down to her and she just gazed right back at them with blank eyes in the chilly dreary mist. Alesse first seemingly saw the fog after the group had passed by and had continued down the road. It was heavy and dense, as though the atoms had been piled on, packed together, one layer after another. You couldn't see 5 feet in front of you and because this was barbaric Chommel Minor, the majority its populace were making their way inside. Alesse followed suit, and walked back home, taking her time and enjoying the simple, pure quiet that was so unbelievably hard to reach on the forgotten planet. Only a few lost fellows still wandered the near empty streets when Alesse reached her- "Damn it." She cursed showing an unusual display of emotion. But this was, in all rights was tolerable because her house, her sleeping room, her place of serenity, was gone. The small wood planks that she used to keep the aluminum roof were gone, probably some hobo's firewood; Not only that, her roof, because it was extremely old, had cracked in half. As she was going forward to inspect the damage, and see if there was anything salvageable from it, she tripped over a rock, slicing her knee. Blood spewed from the wound, spilling forth, staining the ground around her crimson red. She stared at it mesmerized, letting it trickle on to her hand, and fall to the floor.

She gazed toward the murky overcast sky, her eyes welling with tears and whispered, "So this is my punishment."

AN-Yeah, I hope you liked the first chapter of You're Not the Hero. Advice is appreciated and always welcome. But no flames please!